


Finding Peace

by sparrow_spoons



Category: DreamSMP, L’manburg - Fandom, Wilbur Soot - Fandom
Genre: Angst sort of? Kind of? Yeah angst, But other than that sfw, Finding Peace, Light description of Wilbur’s death, L’Manburg, L’manberg, Pogtopia, Wilbur is dead sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow_spoons/pseuds/sparrow_spoons
Summary: They buried Wilbur under l’mantree.After Wilbur’s death, each member of l’manburg tries to find some peace. Some forgiveness.Each chapter is a different member visiting Wilbur’s grave.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 100





	1. The Burials

They buried Wilbur under l’mantree. 

It was a solemn procession, short and somewhat bitter. No one could bear to look much at his body, laying peacefully in the ground without a casket, carefully arranged flowers covering the wound in his chest. 

How cruel it was that Wilbur could not be so peaceful until he was dead. 

His gravestone was simple, a rough block of stone sitting next to the gnarled trunk of l’mantree, plain and empty save for seven words-  
“I heard there was a special place”.

Schlatt hadn’t gotten the luxury of any proper procession. One afternoon, Quackity took up some wood and made a sloppy cross on a hill. No significance to the chosen spot, no commemoration signs, just the cross.  
No one ever visited.

A sloppy cross for a sloppy man with a sloppy life and a sloppy death.  
Fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter! the next chapters are members of l’manburg visiting Wilbur’s grave :)


	2. Fundy

Fundy was the first to visit Wilbur’s grave. 

He was angry. At Wilbur. For not giving him enough love, for leaving him with Schlatt, for all the traitor comments, for not bothering to reconnect when Fundy finally came back, for not giving Fundy, his own son, presidency or recognition when they won the war, for blowing up l’manburg.  
For leaving him an orphan.  
For leaving without saying goodbye.  
For never once saying he was proud of him. 

Fundy was the scorned child, ignored, neglected, dissed. The traitor son. The last straw to break Wilbur’s back and send him reeling into insanity.

He was angry, at himself. For staying with Schlatt, for scorning Wilbur, for not trying hard enough to reconnect, for being bitter about Tubbo’s elect. 

It wasn’t like Fundy deserved to be president anyway. The son of l’manburg had once turned his back on his home in favor of power. He had burned down the l’manburg flag and tore down the walls.  
The flag he had been raised under. The walls Wilbur had built to keep him safe.

Fundy was angry. 

So he went to Wilbur’s grave, and he screamed, and he cried, and he kicked the rough gravestone, and he shouted obscenities at the dead man six feet below him.

And Fundy apologized. For everything. 

The next time he visited, he brought his guitar. He’d found it stashed away in some forgotten chest in the back of his bedroom, where it had been gathering dust ever since he announced his running against Wilbur in the election. The sight of it had filled him with guilt, so he stuffed it away.  
After all, Wilbur had been the one to give him the guitar.  
Wilbur had been the one to teach him to play. 

So he brought his guitar, and he settled against l’mantree, and he tried to remember some chords. Picking at the strings and messing with the frets until he found himself plucking a simple tune, one that shot him back to late nights as a child laying in his father’s lap while a fire danced happily in the hearth and a flag with three x es waved in the distance.  
The anthem of l’manburg. The first thing Wilbur had taught him to play.

Fundy visited almost every day. He played his guitar, and sang the anthem, and imagined Wilbur was sitting by his side instead of six feet below it. 

Fundy found peace.


	3. Tubbo

Tubbo was the second to visit Wilbur’s grave. 

He was bitter, of course he was. Tubbo was the president of a crater, instead of the president of a proud and beautiful country. Because of Wilbur.

But Tubbo was kind. 

So Tubbo went and sat by Wilbur’s grave, and told him that Tubbo, at least, forgave him. For everything. 

He visited every week. Some days he cried, frustrated with the still apparent division in his country, frustrated at Wilbur for making reconstruction so difficult, frustrated at himself for not being a good enough president.   
But most days, he just talked. About his day, about Tommy, about the new podium and the new l’manburg being built up from the ashes Wilbur had left.   
One day, he brought something with him, a faded and torn piece of cloth, black and yellow and blue and white and red. The first l’manburg flag, the oldest thing that had survived the wars. Tubbo had hidden it in his ender chest the day Wilbur and Tommy were banished.

He draped the flag over Wilbur’s gravestone. It belonged with him, the first president of l’manburg.

Tubbo found peace.


	4. Eret

Eret was the third to visit Wilbur’s grave. 

He felt guilty, of course. His had been the first betrayal, during the first war for l’manburg. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for the path Wilbur had taken, especially considering Wilbur had said Eret’s famous line as he pushed the button- “it was never meant to be”. 

So Eret apologized. 

He didn’t visit very often, just twice or so a month, but everytime he made sure to leave a few flowers at Wilbur’s stone.   
He did his best to be a good citizen of l’manburg for Tubbo, and worked hard to prove that he was no longer the twisting betrayer people thought he was. 

Eret found peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is rly short, but i feel like there’s not too much to say for Eret here?


	5. Tommy

Tommy was the fourth to visit Wilbur’s grave.

He was angry. So, so angry. And sad.  
Terribly, terribly sad. 

He had been the one to stick by Wilbur from the very beginning. The two were brothers in l’manburg. They ran in the election together. When Schlatt took over, they had been banished together. They huddled in the woods and found the ravine and built a resistance together.  
Tommy and Wilbur built pogtopia together.  
And Tommy had been the one to witness Wilbur’s descent into madness. 

He was there to stop Wilbur from pressing the button before. He was beaten down and verbally abused and manipulated as Wilbur grasped for any sort of misplaced vengeance.  
“You’ll never be president, Tommy.”

Wilbur had meant to blow up HIS l’manburg. Tommy’s, not Tubbo’s. He made Tommy the president first. He hadn’t been expecting Tommy to step down from the position he’d always wanted. 

Wilbur had meant to blow up Tommy’s l’manburg and shove it in his face-  
“You’ll never be president.”

Forgiveness did not come easily for Tommy.

The first time he visited, he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, leaning against l’mantree, staring at the block of stone and still-fresh dirt. 

Tommy was not used to quiet.

So he built a music box, and took it with him to Wilbur’s grave, along with the disc he listened to with Wilbur before the war.  
He listened to Mellohi. 

The music made things easier for Tommy. It was easier to pretend Wilbur was leaning against the other side of l’mantree, listening to the disc, instead of rotting in the dirt next to him.  
Rotting. What an awful word. 

Tommy visited almost every day, always with the music box, always just listening to assorted discs. Until one day, when he saw the l’manburg flag that Tubbo had draped over Wilbur’s gravestone with so much care, and immediately burst into tears. Something broke inside him. He sobbed and shouted and pounded his fist on the rough bark of l’mantree. Then he sat there with tears flowing silently down his face long past sunset.

That was new for Tommy. Crying like that.

But it served as release, and a step towards forgiveness. After that day, he was able to talk to Wilbur. He told him about Tubbo, about how the nation was starting to come together again, about the new rollercoaster Quackity was helping him build. 

At some point, Tommy brought something other than the music box and discs. He’d gone to pogtopia trying to find iron for the rollercoaster rails, and instead had found a hat. Wilbur’s hat, from l’manburg, from when they were all happy and peaceful within their walls.  
From when they were brothers.  
Tommy dusted it off and placed it at the foot of Wilbur’s grave. 

Tommy found peace.


	6. Philza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slightly graphic description of Wilbur’s death

Philza was the last to visit Wilbur’s grave. 

It was something he’d been putting off. For a while. For too long. 

He couldn’t bear to face it. The stone, the dirt, the knowledge that he had been the one to put the sword through Wilbur’s chest.  
He heard Wilbur’s voice in his nightmares, begging and pleading for Phil to end it, to kill him.  
And he had. He killed him. His son.  
His poor, insane, misguided son.

Phil tried to convince himself that the avoidance wasn’t selfish, but self preservation.  
But he knew that that didn’t change the fact that it was, indeed, selfish.

So he gathered his courage, and went to visit Wilbur. Far overdue.

When he saw the grave, he almost turned around. The others had clearly been visiting, as there was a l’manburg flag, Wilbur’s hat, a few flowers, and a music box carefully placed on and around the stone.  
He felt like a horrible person to have avoided it this long. He couldn’t avoid it forever.  
So he didn’t turn around. 

He walked up to the grave. And he sank down in front of it. And he cried.  
Phil cried for his son. 

He cried for the old days of l’manburg, when him and little Wilbur adopted Tommy and Techno and Tubbo.  
He cried for the day Wilbur played Phil a song on his guitar for the first time.  
He cried for all the times he paid more attention to Wilbur’s brothers, and neglected Wilbur, because they were adopted and rowdy and needed more care.  
He cried for when he left l’manburg for so, so long and came back to Wilbur, alone.  
He cried for his failure to talk Wilbur down in the button room.  
He cried for the walls covered with frantic, obsessive writing that Wilbur had undoubtedly visited many times before.  
He cried for seeing Wilbur destroy the very nation they built, like it was nothing.  
He cried for Wilbur’s desperate pleading for Phil to kill him.  
He cried for Wilbur hugging him one last time and gasping as the sword slid in between his ribs.  
He cried for Wilbur sinking slowly to his knees, still hugging Phil, blood dripping out of his mouth and tears dripping out of his eyes, the sword stuck to its hilt through his chest.  
He cried for his son. 

Phil sat there for hours, on his knees in front of Wilbur’s gravestone, crying about all the things that went wrong. When he finally wiped the tears from his eyes, he found new resolve building in his chest.  
He would not fail his remaining sons. He would not fail what was left of this nation. 

He would not fail them as he had failed Wilbur.

Phil visited a couple times a week. He never had much to say to his dead son below the dirt, but he told stories. Of Wilbur’s brothers, of the new citizens he met- Quackity and Karl among others, of how well Tubbo was picking up the role of a leader. 

He didn’t have anything to give or leave at Wilbur’s grave, but that was okay. The stories were enough. Talking to his son was enough.

Philza found peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) might add on Quackity, Techno, and Dream’s povs at some point if this gets some positivity. or maybe Q and Tubbo visiting Schlatt’s cross? we’ll see :)


End file.
